I nearly had a heart attack about an hour ago.
I recently sent off my paranormal romance, The Queen Killer, to an editor. Received a very nice email saying she’d received it and looked forward to reading my project.
Now, for reasons too convoluted to go into here, I had to use my husband’s email address to send the manuscript. According to the submissions guidelines I’d been given, I needed to save the document as an .rtf or .doc. I was cool with that, and saved it as .rtf. Tried really hard not panic as I hit send.
I am the first to admit, I get a little amped up about sending off my mss to publishers/agents, and really, even critique partners. For the last week, in the back of my head, it’s been needling me that I might have sent off the wrong document, mostly because, since I sent it using my husband’s email address, I haven’t been able to check the sent documents and verify that I did, indeed, send the right one.
Today, I started to get really, really nervous (a touch of OCD, anyone? Yeah, and what is probably an undiagnosed anxiety disorder. But whatever.), so I went into my own documents and pulled up the only .rtf file in that directory.
It was the wrong document. A really, really old draft. Like, five drafts ago old.
My heart skipped a couple of beats. I thought I was going to vomit (doesn’t help that I’m fighting a stomach bug right now, either). I started to shake.
So I called M and asked him to look it up. He told me to look it up on his email, but I couldn’t remember his stinking password. So I called him back. He wouldn’t give his password to me, but he said he’d call me back.
I began scouring my files for the right .rtf file, but it was nowhere to be found. I saved another version of the latest draft and tried compose my desperate, “I’m the biggest ding-dong on the face of the planet, and try not to hold it against me, but here’s the actual document you wanted” email. Yeah, I’m sure that would have gone over extraordinarily well.
I wanted to cry. Instead, I sat there and shook like a scared chihuahua.
And then, M forwarded me the email I actually sent. There was my query letter (which is actually pretty good), and the document in question as an attachment.
I dreaded opening up the attachment. Felt sick doing it.
And almost passed out with relief when I saw that it was the right version of my story. The .rtf version I still can’t find in any directory on my computer, despite a search. Doesn’t matter. She got the right version, so at least she’s reading what I actually intended for her to read. If she doesn’t like it, at least she’s not liking the latest version, and not some older, less-refined draft.
I think I need a nap.